Ice Cream
by eternallost
Summary: Bitter like the cold, sweet like the milk it's made from. One shot of Joker/Harley. Dubcon.


"HARLEY! I'M COMING IN!" The Joker sent a furious kick against Poison Ivy's greenhouse door. Hmmm… Seemed to be some sort of plastic blend; the stuff was tough to crack. He knew the twit was in there, _he just knew it!_ And what with Pam away pushing her feminist agenda, along with those pert globes, at the Bat he'd take the opportunity to smoke Harley out. Sure she had no brains and was a complete loon. Sure she was annoying as hell when she prodded him for attention every _damned_ day. But that wasn't her purpose in life, her purpose was… _Oh, what was her purpose again?_

"Come on out Pooh, Daddy's got something sweet for you." He poured on the saccharine she responded to so well. _Oh, I'll give you something sweet_.

"Never!" She squeaked from the top floor, her pigtails dancing on the breeze from the second story window.

"And why not?" he hid his grimace with a grin.

"Ivy says you don't deserve me. And I'm thinkin' maybe, just _maybe,_ she's right!"

What was she a _lesbo_ now? And here she had been practically- **no** \- she _had_ been bouncing on his lap begging for his cock the last several years. There was no nuance; no veil of innuendo. It was just _please, please, pleeaaasse!_ At times he wondered if she really was a kid trapped in that silhouette.

"Hah, AHEHAhaha!" The Joker slapped his thigh through his purple overcoat. The tails were whipping in the winter wind coming off the bay. "You're a regular Pinocchio, you know that?"

"You callin' me a liar?" She hollered down. His words held so much more. They always had, just like his sleeves. "Because I ain't. I'm not stupid either!" She felt like the garbage bag blowing in the wind behind him. She could fly, but when she fell she'd just be another piece of trash on the sidewalk. He'd ensure that. Where was Ivy? Why did she have to be such a party pooper and stay home? Her voice slipped, "I've got a degree and everything; _you used to call me Doc for cryin' out loud_!"

"Well, _Doc_ ," The Joker took of his hat and held it to his lapels, "I need your help."

The word hit her like a searing knife through her heart, simultaneously igniting passion and pain. "I won't be tricked by you!" Tears froze on her face in the icy wind. "I've been your shadow for ten years. I know what you've got in your hat."

He rolled the cigar-sized canister of gas between his fingers. Hah, at least she'd always admired his work. He couldn't deny a fan. He took it out and shook it as if to show her she was right. "Remember when we used this to get into the museum? That guard was so fat he knocked ten artifacts down in one swoop. He didn't even need us to wreck the joint!" He cackled.

Harley gulped a laugh as she wiped her face with her sleeve. It was strange not to see black and white grease paint on the fabric. For a moment she panicked as if she were a woman without her wedding ring, remembering she'd left it on the bedside table. Curse him for knowing just how to weasel his way back in. She spewed the worst thing she could think of, "You're not funny!"

In response, the Joker dramatically clutched his heart and fell back first into a snow drift. She watched as sparse flurries began to speckle his pale complexion and melt on his coat.

"You aren't dead, either!" She called out to no avail. The Joker lay still looking as if he truly were a corpse. It had to be cold for him, she could hardly feel her nose anymore. "Get up, you dummy!" She urged, "GET UP!" The wind blew against his hair, causing a pristine pomade chunk to become dislodged. He would fix it, he had to. He wouldn't let anyone see imperfection. Not even her. When a gloved hand didn't reach up, she felt the adrenaline. "Oh," she flustered, "shoot." Her stocking feet padded across the warmed greenhouse floor. She grabbed a thick mink coat and dodged out the door without shoes.

"Mister J," She hollered before she knelt down to touch his face, "Mister J! Are you all right? I'll call the paramedics!"

His strong fingers wrapped around her delicate wrist, "ARE YOU DAFT?!" He growled out before a smile curled around his cheekbones and he purred, " _You're_ the doctor here."

She slid her hand out of his grasp as she had with so many cuffs. He needed zip ties like the coppers if he wanted to keep her contained. "I already told ya you're all right. Now go on and play with your buddy in black. I'm busy babysittin' the orchids." She turned.

"Hah!" She couldn't bait him. He was the _King_ of bait. And he'd get her, _oh yes;_ hook, line and _sink her_. "I see," Joker put a purple leather glove to his cheek in mock sorrow, "you're an herbivore now. And here I thought you _loved_ sausage. Why, you'd beg for it with breakfast, and dinner, and in the oddest of places like the janitor's closet during every heist..."

The taste and feel of his thick cock barely fitting into her narrow jaw, insistently ramming down her throat, was suddenly overwhelming. She shook her head as her hair whipped her face in response. Her penance. "Quit it," she snarled. She knew that if she relented he wasn't even the type to give it up to her. He'd hold it as leverage, dangling it in front of her nose as a promise of a reward he'd never give. But maybe… _If she didn't give up_ … It could have been twisted enough to work.

"You're thinking about the taste of it now aren't you?"

"Eh, not really," she shrugged. "I was actually looking at your getaway car. The Jolly Icey man. Haven't had a cone in a while."

"Care for a scoop of vanilla?"

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, "Never been in the mood for vanilla."

"Neither have I," His grin stretched over his gums.

She had to turn back in the direction of the truck to hide her mischievous smile.

xXx

Harley entered the back of the vehicle, steeling herself. Of course she knew there was no ice cream. She also knew that the Joker was likely to think her as much of a twit as she played. She would just have to commit and stick to her role. If she showed any signs of cracking just before the breaking point, he would sniff her out like the bloodhound she knew he was. _What a man_. She took a breath as she saw the shag carpeting, throw furniture, and fuzzy blankets. Just like him, the freezing back of an ice cream truck was going to be decidedly heated.

"Where's my cake and sprinkles in a waffle cone?" She turned and crossed her arms, stomping her foot like a child. She'd forgotten she was only wearing stockings.

"I'm afraid we've only got _one_ flavor," the Joker placed a hand on either side of her causing her legs to drape over a blanket-covered freezer that came up to his knees. "If you're a good little girl I'll give it to you."

"I want cake and sprinkles," she huffed indignantly.

"Naughty girls don't get what they want," the Joker's voice was low as he tugged on her pigtails, causing her to look at a rusted mural on the ceiling. Even if they weren't there, she saw sparks.

"I don't want what you're sellin' Mister." She said in breaths as she felt him eyeing her exposed posture.

When she felt him hard against her bare thigh she struggled not to whimper in pleasure. So she kept her mouth shut, breathing quickly in and out through her teeth. But there was nothing she could do about the flood her body had been trained to elicit.

He kept her looking at the peeling calliope on the ceiling with gentle pressure. "I couldn't interest you in any wares that you might like to get your hands on, hm?"

She licked her dry lips, "Nuh-uh."

"Then I don't have a flavor for you," he chuckled as he pulled his cock away and left her feeling the air where his warmth had been. She could hear her heart in the silence, hoping it wasn't as loud or as obvious as she felt. _Had she failed? Would a knife be soon in its place?_ Suddenly his digits curled around the spandex of her panties causing a sharp intake of breath. " _Oh,_ but it looks like you've got something savory for me." He dipped a finger into her and traced lazy cursive over her sex, "A nice, warm, whoopee pie. Now, tell me, does this filling look right to you?" he drew apart his fingers. "Looks like it needs some cream."

"I," she swallowed against her salivation, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He shoved his thumb roughly into her mouth. "Have a taste," he laughed, "I insist."

She encouraged herself not to suck as she pulled back and spit her excess saliva on to the floor. "Shall I try?" he cackled as he slammed her shoulders onto the covered freezer, pressing his mouth to hers and seeking her essence with his tongue. She tried her best to make her moan sound like it wasn't out of pleasure. But his fingers were playing her like the instrument she was, honed and tuned to his every movement. She had been taught year after year to respond to the slightest of advances. A mere peck could make her climax if need be. _This_ onslaught felt as if the dam broke and she was under the wave of the oncoming flood. The carousel was spinning above her. She had to stop it. She had to focus on walking the line or she'd fall off the tightrope.

Harley bit down on his lip as he peeled back in laughter. She could see the crimson staining between his pearly whites; committed the branched pattern it made as it traveled from the corner of his mouth down his strong chin. In these moments she told herself, _I_ can _do that. I've done it. I'm still alive. Maybe he even_ likes _it. He's got to like it. He's got to like_ me _or I'd be dead … That means I've got more power than any goon in Gotham._ She began to laugh too as his back hand struck her left cheek; blood spattered on the tainted shag wall.

"You're right, Pooh," he crooned, "cherry syrup is just the thing."

Harley exaggerated a frown as she wiped the red from her lips with mink.

"Oh, come now, Harley girl," he stroked her face ever-so-gently. "You _like_ cherries. You've always asked me to pluck yours, haven't you?" His voice was excitedly dark. "I know exactly how to bring a _smile_ to that face."

His gloves were off. It was almost as sacred as watching someone remove their pants. Soon, the warmth of his bare fingers wrapped around her delicate throat, using just enough pressure to secure her against the wall while keeping her cognizant. She didn't know whether to dare to look down. His skin was always so smooth, flawless. She could feel the perfection permeating her skin. His other fingers trailed through her thin line of blonde pubic hair. "Normally I would go picking cherries from a tree, but this bush should suit just fine," he cackled. Harley bit her swollen lip to keep from making a sound as his fore and middle finger pinched her clit. "Here's one now!" The Joker leaned his head back to admire her pained expression, the mouth that had uttered a thousand whining words was now silent. Not a peep from his chick-a-dee. "Stubborn little cherry; doesn't seem to want to budge," he tutted. "But, I know where the others like to hide," he grinned as he tore her sleeping shirt open. It was one of Ivy's oversized man shirts. The dreadful thing was probably more of a pelt than the mink Harley wrapped herself in. He wanted it off, he needed her naked in every sense of the word. Bare down to her very soul. The buttons broke and her chest jiggled with the force. The twit never wore a bra. Then again, those pert tits didn't need caging... He quite liked how the Batman turned away from the peaks in her thin black and red fabric. Oh, the shame on his stern face at those pearls when he cracked a joke in her direction! HAH! He moved his digits up to tug on her hardened nipple. She was his tool. _His_ to manipulate. Just as he was doing to her left breast. "That's right," he whispered into her ear as her back arched. "I know you're feeling all the way to the very core of you. Say who you belong to and I'll let you finish."

Harley shook her head vehemently, chewing on her lips as tears trickled down her rosy cheeks. "No?" The Joker hooted, "You're just a terribly twisted little girl, aren't you?" He ran his pianist fingers down the curvature of her ribs, resting them on the widest part of her. He gripped down, flipping her over the freezer roughly, causing her to cry out as he struck her naked backside. "Say it, Harley," he spoke calmly before the next calculated impact, "speak your Daddy's name."

"No!" She pouted like a petulant child, tears flowing freely from her eyes. Little did he know that they were full of joy.

"Say." SPANK! "It." SLAP!

"You can't make me!"

"Oh, we'll see about that," Joker chortled before positioning himself behind her. In one swift motion she was filled to her slick hilt.

"Umgh!" Harley muffled her moan with the blanket. She gripped so tightly that she could feel her nails through the profuse fabric. She knew she couldn't play this card again or he'd catch on. When he wrapped a hand around to fondle her chest and hood she couldn't make her cries sound painful any longer. "You like it," he laughed, "I can hear you. I can feel you from the inside out." A blush spread across her face. _Damn_.

"I do _not_!" Harley huffed with each thrust.

He exited her, gripping her shoulders so she turned to him. "Then, look at me, _Harleen_ ," he grinned. "I want to see the tears on your pretty face when I'm pounding into you."

His use of her old name caused something to break inside of her. She'd forgotten her plans. She'd fallen off the tightrope and knew hard ground was swiftly approaching. _When had he ever used it?_ He didn't even use it in Arkham. He called her Doc or Harley or Pooh or imbecile or… Well, those were his creations for her. _What was Harleen?_ A life created in the absence of the Joker. And now he had come to claim her as well. She would lose everything she ever had been. "No!" she shoved back in earnest trying to remember who she had been when she traveled by bus for gymnastics in high school. When she had dreams that every kid growing up on the mean streets of Gotham had.

"There you are," he cooed, "I haven't seen you around these parts." A smile grew on his face, "Shall we get better aquatinted, hm?"

She barely took another breath of sanity before he was inside of her again. She wanted to cover her teary eyes and emblazoned face with her fists but he held them fast to each side of her head. He continued to thrust into her as he brought his smiling face to her ear, " _I_ am where you begin and end, Harl," he pounded even harder, " _Me._ Don't you _ever_ forget that. _You're mine_."

She let out a cry as her heart broke and welled at the same time. Who was she? What did it matter? She didn't care. Whoever she was, she was lucky enough to be here, writhing underneath his cock. She was in demand, desired. Validated. Wasn't that what she always wanted? "Yes!" She'd hit the dirt, hard. "Oh, pleaaase! Joker!" Her moans mingled with his laughter.


End file.
